Gale's POV After the War
by dancer4lifee
Summary: After the Rebellion, Gale has decided to let Katniss go. He sees that Peeta loves her and thinks it's for the best. But when Katniss is put on trial for treason after killing Coin and Peeta is nowhere to be found, Gale realizes that he has to help her.
1. The Woods

**Ok here's chapter one! :)**

**This is basically just Gale's perspective on the time he spent with Katniss before the first reaping. I hope you like it.**

**Please review! Any advice/suggestions/constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :)**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own The Hunger Games, any of its characters, or ideas. Those all belong to Suzanne Collins. :)**

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><p>As I leave the room I feel like I am also leaving a part of myself. Katniss Everdeen, The Girl On Fire, has extinguished that last bit of flame that still burned inside my heart. All I feel now is the cold emptiness that is beginning to envelope me. At last I know. I know that whatever future we could have had together was destroyed by the first reaping that took place so long ago, yet still remains a fresh wound in my heart.<p>

It was a cold autumn day and Katniss and I had planned to meet in the forbidden woods outside of the district. Our forest sanctuary sat just over the "electrified" fence that was designed to keep predators out, and the citizens of District Twelve in. We were to meet at our spot on a rock under a large oak tree that had a protruding branch about eight feet up. It was said that a man who murdered three people was hanged there along with his lover. If you think about it, it's kind of a morbid place for best friends to meet, but it was _our_ spot.

As she walked over, I felt something stir inside of me- something warm and unexplainable- just like it had the day Darius teased Katniss about how she should want to kiss him. I didn't know then why I had gotten so upset about that. She was just some scrawny, starving Seam girl who I met in the woods when she was only twelve. She was just my hunting partner. She was just my best friend. I realize now why I wanted to punch Darius in the face and let him sleep his injuries off in the cold, wet streets of the Hob that day.

We sat shoulder to shoulder on our narrow rock, sharing the warm, familiar comfort of our body heat on that chilly autumn day while I complained about the Games and the Capitol. Katniss never seemed to mind my negativity and bitterness that inevitably accompanied such talk and would listen to my ranting intently while I blew off some steam.

Then, on my behalf, the conversation became much more than the casual bashing of our government. I suggested that we run. Run away from everything and everyone, and escape into the woods. Away from the starvation, sickness, and struggle. Away from Twelve, the fences, and the Games. Away from the Capitol's clutches that would ultimately steal our friendship and any chance we had at a romance away.

At first she looked at me with intrigue and curiosity. But that one strand of hope I had was ripped from me when her expression turned to one of confusion and refutation. I knew she would never do it anyway. She cares too much for her family. She even cared about the rest of the district too much to run away and leave them to starve. I guess I just had to ask for confirmation of what I knew would be her answer. After her speech of refusal, we both dropped the subject and went back to our daily routine of hunting and gathering until noon when we had to go home to prepare ourselves for the reaping ceremony.

Two hours later, in the town square where the reaping would take place, there she was. She came to stand beside me before we were herded into separate pens- one for girls and the other for boys- like livestock awaiting selection for slaughter. She wore a flowing blue gown with flecks of glitter that made her grey Seam eyes shine like stars in a cloudless night sky. Her hair was not in her signature single dark braid draped straight down her back, but in an elaborately braided style that could only have been executed by her mother's clever hands. This moment confirmed my worst suspicions. I was in love with Katniss Everdeen.


	2. The Reaping & The Execution

**Sorry for the really long wait! I've super busy, but I promise I will update more frequently. I split this chapter into two sections because they didn't really mesh. I hope you like it! :) Pretty, pretty please review. Any comments/ideas/advice/constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. :)**

**I do NOT own The Hunger Games, any of its characters, or ideas. Those all belong to Suzanne Collins. :)**

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><p><strong>Section One: The Reaping<strong>

After we were separated, the reaping commenced. All the while I kept thinking to myself: _Not Katniss. Not Katniss. Please, God, not Katniss!_ And sure enough, it wasn't.

But as quickly as Effie Trinket could trill in her overly enthusiastic, high-pitched voice, "Primrose Everdeen!" I knew she was as good as gone.

Katniss immediately began shouting, "I volunteer! I volunteer!" loudly and hysterically, over and over as she ran up to selflessly take her little sister's place in the Games. My heart sank as she walked solemnly up to the stage while little Prim was bawling her eyes out and begging her sister not to go. I had to hold her back as I helped Katniss up onto the platform to be taken away from me. Forever.

After the whole ordeal of choosing a girl tribute was over, the focus switched to selecting a boy to go to the Capitol. Secretly, I hoped it would be me. I wanted to be with her until the bitter end. To be her protector and to make sure that she would be the victor, even if it meant ending my own life. But of course, once again, the odds were not in my favor.

As Effie Trinket chimed the name Peeta Mellark, I knew that the best thing I could do for Katniss was to assure her that I would keep her family fed. To make sure she knew that I would be here watching her, silently supporting her through everything, and willing her to come home. What I didn't know, however, was that the unassuming baker's son would be the one who would, with the Capitol's help, extinguish my internal flame by making The Girl on Fire fall in love with him.

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><p><strong>Section Two: The Execution<strong>

As I walk out of Snows mansion to watch his execution, I know there is no turning back. Since it was, in fact, my bomb that killed Prim, I know that, deep down, Katniss will never forgive me. Although I had no intention or knowledge of Coin using my bomb to sacrifice hundreds of children, including her sister, I know that Katniss will never stop thinking about my involvement in Prim's murder.

At 1:30 P.M., two soldiers parade Snow out onto the stage in front of a frenzied crowd and shackle him to a wooden chair. He coughs, and blood sputters from his mouth and trickles down his chin, staining the white rose in his lapel. At last it is time. Time for the man who I have loathed so strongly for long, the man who stole Katniss from me with his Games and murdered me inside, to die. His death will be the only good thing to come out if this mess.

I take my place among the spectators as Katniss walks out, her head held high in front of the roaring crowd, and takes her position. I am entranced by her face on the enormous screen above the mansion. Her signature dark braid cascades down her slender back. Her face burns with an intensity that I have never seen before, and her tried grey eyes are still as bright as ever, despite the circumstances. Her lips, which I have touched only a few times with my own, purse and then relax, becoming the full and soft lips that I had once hoped would be mine to kiss forever. The scared girl who I met in the woods over five years ago has ceased to exist. She seems an impenetrable fortress, devoid of any emotion but hatred for the man that destroyed her home, murdered her sister, and made her a piece in his Games. But she still blazes with a beauty and allure that radiates from her being and threatens to reignite the flame within me that I thought was extinguished forever.

As she reaches to pull the single arrow I had given her from her sheath, her face contorts into a pained expression of indecision. _What are you thinking, Catnip? _Her aim shifts from President Snow to Coin.

Bam! It is done. The arrow strikes Coin in the neck and she plummets from her balcony to the stage where Snow sits cackling and spewing blood below. Dead. Great commotion and chaos ensue and six guards seize Katniss. I ready my arrow in preparation to keep our promise to kill each other if one of us were to be captured by Capitol forces. The wild and terrified expression on her face, the one that we have seen so much in prey, sends me over the edge, and I draw back my bow. Just as I am about to release my arrow and send it straight through her heart, I see Peeta Mellark crush the nightlock pill in Katniss' outfit, and I know that I am no longer her protector.

After Katniss has been taken into the mansion and out of the crowd's sight, I turn and walk away with my head hung, heavy with despair and defeat. I could never even dream of competing with someone like Peeta. I know Katniss will probably hate me forever for not killing her as I had promised to. Somehow, I will have to learn to survive without her. She has chosen Peeta over me because she cannot survive without the warmth and kindness with which only he can provide her. I will go to District Two to work for their military and hope that it will be enough to distract me during the day so that the memories of her-of us- will only haunt me in my dreams.


	3. Treason & Memories

**Chapter Three!**

**I hope you like it! :) Pretty, pretty please review. Any comments/ideas/advice/constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. :)**

**I do NOT own The Hunger Games, any of its characters, or ideas. Those all belong to Suzanne Collins. :)**

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><p><strong>Section One: Treason<strong>

Two days after Katniss killed Coin, I am at the Capitol military base awaiting the hovercraft that will take me to District Two so I can work on developing cutting-edge weapons for Paylor, the new president of Panem. Beetee should be here any minute now. And sure enough he is. His worried look and frantic pace make me uneasy.

"Gale," he huffs, almost out of breath, "Katniss is to be tried for treason!"

_ What? No. She was the Mockingjay. She made the rebellion possible and now she might die for freeing Panem? _Beetee notices the shock that has registered on my face and answers every question that my silence has asked. He tells me that she is being held somewhere deep in the Training Facility and is awaiting her trial that she will neither be present for nor aware of in about a month.

"A month? They can't keep her locked up down there for a month without even telling her anything. She'll go crazy! Maybe even try to kill herself!" I'm beginning to loose it when I see the District Two officials approaching. "I can't leave her! I have to do something!" As I start to rise from my seat I can feel myself hyperventilating. Then there's a needle in my arm, and the world slips away.

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><p><strong>Section Two: Memories<strong>

In my disturbed, drug-induced sleep, I am transported back in time. Back to the woods of District 12. I am with Katniss as she tells me of her plan to run away. This is what I've been dying to hear for so long. Without even thinking, I scoop her up in my arms and twirl her around, laughing and smiling all the while. Here smiling face glows with a warmth and beauty in the light of the small fire that I had never even fathomed to be humanly possible, and my still fragile heart skips a beat. This is it. We will finally be able to be together, out of the Capitol's reach where we can close the icy space that the Games created between us and hopefully fall in love together. Maybe now that we won't have the Hunger Games to worry about, she might even agree to having children. Then, before I even have time to think about the repercussions of what I am about to say, my emotions win out over my reason and I tell Katniss what I have been so desperately wanting to say to her since the first time I tried on the day of the reaping.

"I love you."

Her smile almost instantly contorts and I can feel my heart about to break when she replies, "I know."

I know she still has feelings for Peeta, even though she insists it is just an act. That's why she tells me that she wants to bring him and Haymitch along. Not to keep them from being hurt by the Capitol, as she states, but so she can make sure that Peeta will still be within her reach. This kills me inside but I don't show it. I never do. I only turn my despair into what everyone else interprets as a cold and bitter facade, hiding my twisted sadness behind an impenetrable wall. As I draw away, Katniss tries to make what she said less horrible by reassuring me that by running away, she might be able to make sense of her feelings, and by telling me that things might be different. I do not believe it.

Then she says it. She tells me what will change both of our lives forever. She tells me about the uprising in District 8 and of the possibility of it having spread to the other districts. I know now that I cannot leave. I have to fight and help the rebellion. Katniss refutes this notion immediately and insists that running away would be better. But I can't do it. Not now, with the possibility of a revolution.

I leave her to sift through her thoughts on our now cold and empty rock as I drag the lifeless, bleeding turkey that I managed to shoot earlier behind me. I usually sell them to old Cray, the Head Peacekeeper. In any other district, I would be shot on sight for poaching. But when you live in a district where starvation is the most common cause of death, even the Head Peacekeeper will not execute criminals who keep him fed.

After I knock on the door, there is about a twenty-second waiting period before someone answers. The huge man with white hair, deep facial wrinkles, and a harsh, stone-cold expression who comes to the door, however, is not Cray. I later come to know that his name is Romulus Thread and he is the new Head Peacekeeper of District Twelve. I try to hide the turkey somewhere, anywhere, but it's too late. Thread has already begun to handcuff me and drag me along with the turkey to the post in the square.


	4. Maybe

**Chapter Four: Maybe**

**I hope you like it! :) Pretty, pretty _please review_. Any comments/ideas/advice/constructive criticism are _greatly_ appreciated. :)**

**I do NOT own The Hunger Games, any of its characters, or ideas. Those all belong to Suzanne Collins. :)**

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><p>My trial has commenced. Though there isn't much I can say in my defense, with the evidence dangling by the nail through it's neck on the post just a few feet away, I try to make up a less criminal story about how I killed the turkey. I tell Thread that it wondered into the district over the fence and I stabbed it through the neck with a stick. By some miracle, he believes me. I am forced to plead guilty to my crime and sentenced to a whipping to be carried out immediately.<p>

Just like that, two other Peacekeepers bind my wrists and tie me to the pole with the turkey still dangling over my head. A drop of it's still warm, thick blood drips onto my forehead and slides down the bridge of my nose. My warm flannel shirt is ripped from my tensed back, leaving me fully exposed to the frigid snow fall and bitter wind. But the cold weather is the least of my worries.

A substantial crowd has gathered before the post in the square to bear witness to my punishment. I know many of the faces from the Hob and countless others yet: people from school last year, those who buy the game that Katniss and I sell, mine workers, good friends, young children, even the Peacekeepers who bound me to the post. They all look on with faces that register shock, dissent, and disgust for what is about to occur. Their expressions relay one universal message: _We do not condone._ Before the imminent display of horror, I look to the crowd for one last time and give them a sad but reassuring smile, and close my eyes in preparation for the inevitable anguish that awaits me.

The crack of the whip is followed by an excruciating pain to which I have never felt an equivalent. This happens over and over and jagged flashes of white light speckled with inky dots cross my vision with every impact. Everything happens in slow motion. The contact between my now raw, bleeding flesh and the sadistically braided whip lingers on longer and longer with every blow. The world starts to spin, my vision blurs, and I begin to feel myself slipping away. Whether it is from the blood-loss or pain, I'll never know, but after about the 30th strike, I loose consciousness.

The next thing I am aware of is the searing pain of my wounds and the terrible moaning sound escaping from my chapped lips. I can feel who I believe is my mother pressing my hand to her lips and her tears flowing over my fingertips. Then, I see her; Katniss pleading with her mother to give me painkillers, I think. She's loosing it now and I can make out who I believe to be Haymitch and Peeta dragging her, thrashing and screaming obscenities, out of the room. My mind commands me to bolt up and tear her from their grasps; to hold her in my arms, firmly locked in my protective embrace, and to assure her that everything will be alright. But my body refuses and continues to lay motionless like a raw slab of meat on the cold wooden table in Mrs. Everdeen's kitchen. Why are Peeta and Haymitch here? Did they, along with Katniss, try to stop my flogging? I'll never know for certain, but my heart tells me that it's true.

I am vaguely aware of a knock at the door. I don't know who answers it, but after only what seems like a brief conversation Mrs. Everdeen's blurry figure reenters the room with a package filled with tiny vials of clear liquid, possibly sleep syrup. Katniss, after much negotiation, I assume, is allowed back into the kitchen. I am about to reach out to grasp her hand when her mother injects me with the clear contents of the vials, and the world fades into oblivion.

Whatever was in those vials was not sleep syrup. I am dead to the world now and trapped in some fuzzy, violet-tinged realm where confusion, hollowness, and occasional stabs of deadened pain plague me. Visions of what was, what is, and what could be swirl around in a tempest of chaos, and I find myself wishing I was conscious and in agony on Katniss' kitchen table rather than stuck in this dull, torturous limbo between fantasy and reality.

Despite the effects of what I am later told is a drug called morphling, I become aware of Katniss' presence. Her head is laying on mine and I can feel her soft, delicate hands gingerly stroking my back. I hear her whisper something, but I can't make it out. Then she kisses me.

At this, my eyes flutter open, and, through the haze of opiates, I can see her looking down at me with a mixed expression of guilt and relief.

"Hey, Catnip." I say.

"Hey, Gale." she manages to choke out. Tears well up in her exhausted grey eyes and she speaks with a strained voice. Even with the gruesome scar-which I can only assume is the result of her intervention on my behalf in the square-having sealed her left eye shut, she is still as beautiful as ever.

"Thought you'd be gone by now," I reply.

"I'm not going anywhere," she assures me. "I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble."

"Me too." I can just manage a smile before the drugs pull me back under.

The next thing I'm conscious of is the faint smell of freshly baked cheese buns and Peeta's fuzzy figure looming over me. _Oh great. What's he doing here? _Still in my drug-induced dreamland, I can hear him speaking to me in a tone sadder than any I have ever heard before. "You know she really does love you. You can tell just by the way she looks at you and how she almost punched me square in the nose to get to you last night when we were dragging her out of the kitchen," he almost chuckles. "You're very lucky."

Lucky? I don't call watching the only girl you've ever loved kiss another boy on national television lucky. I don't call watching the only girl you've ever looked at with such longing plan her wedding to another man lucky. As of right now, lying motionless and half-asleep on a kitchen table with my back and my heart still throbbing in agony despite the powerful drugs, I am the unluckiest person alive. But maybe there is still hope for me, for us. She did kiss me last night, if that was indeed reality and not some hopeful vision for the future fabricated by the morphling. And she did tell me that she wasn't leaving, that she was going to stay and fight with me. Maybe we still have a chance. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.


	5. Tears

**I am sooooo sorry i haven't updated in forever! I've had writer's block for the past five months. But this story will continue and i will never give up on it! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and ideas from The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. :)**

As whatever they shot into my arm back in the Capitol finally wears off, I gradually open my eyes and become aware of the thin paper gown that covers my otherwise naked body and the sparse sheets draped over my uncomfortably firm hospital bed. The clock tells me that I have been out for about two days. My tears sting even more in this sterile environment and it seems that I have been crying even in my sleep, as the reflective ceiling reveals the dark streaks staining my face.

The first time I ever cried was after the reaping of the 74th Hunger Games. Many find it odd, even disturbing, that I didn't cry when my father was blown to bits in the mine. Truthfully the two of us were never very close. I was just another mouth that needed to be fed in his eyes. I had always tried time and again to win his approval and to finally become a son to him, but my efforts were wasted on him. His death merely freed me from that burden and allowed me to finally be able to focus solely on keeping my family alive and nothing more. Nothing more, that was, until Katniss and I crossed paths.

After the initial reaping ceremony, family and friends were allowed to say what would most likely be their final goodbyes to the tributes. I was the last one to see Katniss before she was carted away to the Capitol. I walked into the Justice Building, the most sickeningly lavash and plush structure that I had ever seen up until Snow's mansion, with my head held as high as the weight of my sorrow would allow it. Not matter what, I had to be strong for Katniss. She could not see me cry.

As I opened the door to Katniss' room, her face lit up and we embraced each other for what were to be the most bitter sweet sixty seconds of my life. She began to weep, but I gently lifted her chin with my hand and wiped her tears away with my calloused thumbs. I instructed her to get her hands on a bow and arrow, even if she had to make one herself and gave her as much encouragement as I possibly could without seeming overly optimistic. She knew as well as I that the odds were not in her favor, and she would have called my bluff immediately.

We talked for another two minutes until Peacekeepers began to usher me out of the the room. Katniss began frantically yelling to me to protect her family and to keep them fed. I assured her I would, and for the first time I disclosed my long suppressed feelings for her. As the Peacekeepers grabbed my arms and dragged me out of the room, I decided that I had to tell her.

"Remember, when you're in the arena," I urged. "Remember that I-." The doors slammed shut, creating a solid barrier that would remain a wall between us for what would become forever. "I love you," I said softly, staring sadly at the door that held Katniss captive on the other side. I desperately hoped she had heard me, but I knew she couldn't have. It was probably for the best anyway.

After the train left for the Capitol with her and Peeta on it, I ran to the woods in search of solace among the trees. Our rock seemed so cold and desolate without the warmth of her body to share the now vast surface with me. It was at that moment that I abandoned any attempt at being strong I had still planed to make and let the salty tears begin to flow and my heart to shatter into a million pieces that would never fully put themselves back together.

The only time Katniss had seen me cry was in her old house in the Victors' Village while on a break from filming a propo after the destruction of Twelve. We had just gotten back from our rock in the woods where Katniss sang "The Hanging Tree". I had never heard her sing before then and I was entranced by the beauty and the clarity of her voice. It is true. The birds really do fall silent when she sings.

Back in the kitchen of her pristine house, untouched by the Capitol's attack, I allowed myself to reminisce. I ran my fingers along the wooden table upon which I had lain, drugged and practically butchered after my whipping.

"This is where you kissed me," I reminded her.

"I didn't think you'd remember that," she said with an accent of surprise in her shaky voice.

"Have to be dead to forget it," I reply coldly. "Maybe not even then." Silence. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." At the very moment I felt my tears start to overflow, she did what I subconsciously expected her to all along. Katniss kissed me.

I knew she would because I was in pain. That was the only way I ever got her attention. Nevertheless, I savored the moment. Our warm, soft lips met and my heart began to flutter, hoping that maybe she had finally made a choice, but my mind knowing she hadn't. It was one of the most gentle and beautiful kisses I had ever received, though we both tasted like heat, ashes, and misery.

**Please review! Any comments and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated! :)**

**A/N: I only plan on writing one more flash back-centered chapter before I start writing more in the present. There will still be a few flash backs, I think, but they will not be the main focus anymore. I'm having some trouble with the direction of the story though. I'm planning on having Gale rescue Katniss but I'm not quite sure how. So if anyone has suggestions I'm open to all of them and it would help me greatly!**


	6. District Two

**Chapter 6 is here! Enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own The Hunger Games, any of its characters, or ideas. They all belong to Suzanne Collins :)**

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><p>After about half an hour of wallowing in the past while laying in my hospital bed, a hefty woman who looked to be in her late thirties and obviously from the Capitol enters my room with an overly optimistic expression. Her heavily sprayed purple and yellow hair refuses move despite her bouncy gait.<p>

"Good afternoon Soldier Hawthorne," she says a little to cheerfully. "Glad to see you're awake!" She places a tray supporting a steaming bowl of lamb stew with dried plums over rice and a tall glass of water on my lap. Not the usual hospital fare. Her green lips move faster than my brain can process the words they produce as she makes annoying small talk about the weather, and the news, and how she misses her home in the Capitol, but how she feels so fulfilled working in a military hospital.

_Wait. She misses the Capitol? Aren't we still there? Where have the officials that knocked me out at the military base taken me?_

"Um, excuse me , ma'am," I ask shakily.

"Oh, call me Carpathea, dear," she interrupts.

"Where are we?"

"Why, we're in District Two, of course." Her puzzled tone perplexes me.

District Two? No, I can't be here. I have to be in the Capitol to help Katniss. No doubt she's begun to go mad by now. Carpathea explains to me that we arrived about a day ago after making a few stops along the way to pick up other recruits. She tells me that I hit my head while working on a hovercraft and suffered a moderate concussion.

That can't be right. Though I'm still a little fuzzy from the sedative, I'm sure that what I remember to be true is in fact what happened. I had to have crossed some border into a state of hysteria in the Capitol and they had to knock me out for my own good. Or was is for theirs?

_Great. Now how am I going to help her?_ There's still time. If I'm told correctly, Katniss' trial hasn't even begun yet and it still won't for about two and a half weeks. There are only two possible outcomes. The first is that she'll be proven innocent with the help of Plutarch Havensbee, who I am told is her star witness. The second is she'll be proven guilty and put to death. I can't let that happen.

After Carpathea leaves, I hurriedly devour the rest of my food. I feel strong despite not having eaten in two days. I scan the room and find my clothes that I wore in the Capitol neatly folded and resting on a dresser a few feet away. I lift myself from the bed and hobble to the dresser on shaky legs to retrieve my clothes. As I pick up my shirt to pull it on over my head, a small piece of paper falls from inside. I cautiously bend down to retrieve it, careful not to test my already unsteady legs. I unfold it and begin to read the shaky writing the could have only been produced by Beetee's hand.

MEET ME AT THE HANGAR

4:00

- BEETEE

Beetee! Thank God he's here. Beetee is the only person I know can trust right now to tell me the truth and to help me sift through all the confusion of the last two days. I rush down the hall and whirl pass astonished faces as fast as my wobbly legs will carry me out the door and across the street to the military hangar where Beetee is.

Hangar 12 is colossal. Hundreds of fighter planes and hovercrafts are housed in the 7,000 square foot facility and my eyes light up at every one I see. Beetee, deep in thought as usual, is closely examining what appear to be blueprints of some sort. His eyes are locked on what is before him, his brows creased in concentration.

"Beetee," I yell. The echo of my deep, frantic voice files through the hangar, bouncing off of countless planes and reaching the ears of almost every worker in the structure, drawing many gazes up from their work and in my direction.

I run up to him and give him a hug, partly because I am relieved to see a familiar face and partly to make sure he's actually here.

"Oh hey there, Gale," says Beetee.

"What are those?" I ask.

"Just some blueprints for building a new hovercraft. We're going to call it the Mockingjay 1.0 in honor of Katniss." Katniss!

"Beetee, what's going on?" I almost beg. "Why did they bring me here when they knew I wanted to stay and help her?" That was a dumb question, really. I know perfectly well why they basically kidnapped me. I would have caused way too much trouble if I had stayed in the Capitol, and the sooner I began work, the better for Paylor. But I still wanted to hear it from someone who I could trust to tell me honestly.

"What do you mean, Gale," Beetee asks. "We came here to help the Capitol develop new weapons and air craft. We've been here for about three days now. When you were working on that hovercraft over there, you hit your head on the propeller and we had to take you to the hospital. You sure you're okay to be out of bed already?"

Lies. Beetee, the one person I was certain that could trust, has just lied to me.

"What? You know exactly what I mean, Beetee." I'm beginning to grow uneasy. "After they injected me with whatever was in that syringe in the Capitol and I passed out, they still loaded both of us onto that hovercraft and brought us here. Don't you remember?"

"Gale, I think you had better go home and lie down for a while," he says gravely.

Maybe that really _is_ what happened. I know concussions can impair one's memory, but I was so sure of what happened and I remember everything so vividly.

I turn and walk to my assigned bunker, finally accepting defeat and beginning to doubt my own sanity when Beetee calls after me, "I'll meet you at your bunker and we can talk." At that my spirits rise from almost insurmountable depths. His tone and the intensity with which he met my eyes suggest much more than anyone on the outside would ever suspect.

It translates to, "It is not safe to speak here."

I find my bunker to be a claustrophobic little box about 10 feet long on each equivalent side and a mere 8 feet high. My almost six foot-tall body barely makes it in the door with out giving myself a nasty bump on the head. Nevertheless, I duck my way in and sit impatiently on the bed, waiting for Beetee to come and finally explain to me what's going on.

I honestly don't know how they expect the massive soldiers they employ in Two to live in such miniature and uncomfortable dwellings for God knows how long. I'm sure the flimsy tin roofs leak horribly when it rains, and during a windstorm, it would be a miracle if the feeble structures don't blow away entirely. It doesn't matter though, at least not in my case. One way or another, I'm not going to be here much longer.

Finally, there is a strong knock on the wooden door that threatens to knock the entire structure down completely.

"Come in," I say passively. If it isn't Beetee, I don't want to sound enthusiastic about being visited by the people who took advantage of my incapacitated state in the Capitol and brought me to this loathsome place. The hatred I feel for everyone here, even those who may have no idea as to my predicament, overwhelms me and I am in danger of snapping and shouting a slew of obscenities at whoever waits for me behind the door.

Luckily, it is Beetee's familiar face that greets me upon entering. His eyes are surrounded by wrinkles brought on by both age and a lifetime of struggle. He looks exhausted. What have they been forcing him to do here? I decide not to ask any further questions until he has explained to me fully our current situation.

"Gale," Beetee begins. "I'm sorry I lied to you back there. It just wasn't safe for me to tell you anything."

"Tell me what's going on Beetee." I demand.

"Gale, you didn't really hit your head while working on a hovercraft. You haven't even been conscious enough to work since we arrived." _Good. Then I'm not crazy._ "What you told me you remember is one hundred percent accurate. After they drugged you, I protested and they did the same to me. When I came to, they immediately put me to work without so much as telling me where we were, why we were here, or where they were keeping you. I had to basically place the pieces of the puzzle together as I picked them up, so to speak."

He's been overworked. That explains the dark circles that look like a second pair of glasses rimming his tired eyes.

"What about Katniss?" I beg. Beetee tells me that her trial has proceeded more quickly than anticipated, though they don't plan on releasing her from beneath the Training Center any sooner. Her mother is working as a doctor in a Capitol hospital and as for Peeta, well, so little focus has been placed on him that he might as well have vaporized into thin air. However, something that pleasant won't last much longer.

"Beetee," I start. "I need to get to her. I don't care what it takes but I have to. I thought Peeta was her protector now, but seeing as Katniss is still trapped alone in the Capitol, I have no choice but to help her." I must be speaking too loudly because Beetee puts a finger to his thin, grey lips.

"I don't know what I can do Gale," he says, his voice heavy with regret. "Everything here is so closely monitored and all the officials are so heavily armed. I don't think there's anything left we can-"

"No, Beetee!" I cut him off. "I don't care what I have to do. I'll take as many bullets as they can shoot into me. I'll kill as many God damned people as I have to. I'll die a thousand deaths before they take Katniss away from me again! I just hoped I wouldn't have to do it alone." "Gale," Beetee sighs.

"Enough, Beetee. You can't talk me out of this!"

"But-"

"I said stop, Beetee!"

"I was just going to tell you that you're insane," he says matter-of-factly. I begin to protest, but Beetee cuts me off by completing his sentence. "And luckily for you... I am too." He gives me a sad smile and I am suddenly overwhelmed by guilt. I feel awful for the way I yelled at him. As he walks out the door with his head hung, he says, "I'll start working on a plan tonight. Try to get some sleep, Gale."

"You too." I call after him.

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><p><strong>Please review! Any comments and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated :)<strong>

**A/N: I only plan on writing one more flash back-centered chapter before I start writing more in the present. There will still be a few flash backs, I think, but they will not be the main focus anymore. I'm having some trouble with the direction of the story though. I'm planning on having Gale rescue Katniss but I'm not quite sure how. So if anyone has suggestions I'm open to all of them and it would help me greatly!**


	7. The Worst Kind of Dream

**Happy New Year! This is my little gift to all of my wonderful readers. It's nothing special and definitely not my best work :/ but it's just a filler chapter until the real fun begins. My New Year's resolution is to update more often and to put some action and progress into my story. This is probably one of my last few flash back chapters, but you can expect maybe one or two more. **

**I just want to give a shout out and a HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed this fic. You guys are flipping amazing! I almost cried reading all of the reviews because they were so amazing :'). You all seriously made my day and are motivating me to write a TON. Special thanks to Ellenka (who also has some amazing Hunger Games fics, so check them out!), Cloud-Lover26, and KiwiMerino (my first reviewer EVER!) for your suggestions and for sticking with me through my inexcusable five month absence. Every single reader and reviewer means the world to me, and I can't thank you all enough! 3**

**DISCLAIMER: All characters and ideas from The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. :)**

****Now, without further adieu, here's chapter seven!****

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><p>It's about ten o'clock by the time I finally have surrender to my fatigue and allow myself at least a few hours of rest. I crawl into my small, firm bed, and close my eyes. I guess I sleep, because I believe I'm dreaming. It is the worst kind of dream I could ever have. Not a nightmare of mutts, or Katniss rejecting me, or even of Prim's death. No, this is far worse. It is a torturously blissful dream about the last time we were both in District Two together. It is this sadistic type of dream that leaves me desperately longing for of what I know I can never have when I wake.<p>

It is the middle of a frigid night in District Two and Katniss and I are curled up together around the heat of a glowing fire, my arms in a tight warm embrace that encircles her slender physique. While stoking the blaze, I suddenly find myself entranced as I gaze into the sad grey eyes that belong to my best friend and the love of my life. I gently start to brush my lips over the faded bruises on her neck and she gradually closes her eyes. The euphoria I feel is overwhelming and I can tell she is having similar sensations in response to my touch.

She turns her head and moves in closer to my face. Our foreheads are now touching as we stare into each other's grey Seam eyes. Suddenly, she presses her soft warm lips against my own. I almost consider drawing back, yet I somehow know that this could very well be the last time our lips ever meet and I decide to savor the moment. Instinctively, I close my eyes and lose myself in the ecstasy of her touch.

The heat around us continues to grow, kindled by the warmth of the fire and the passion of our embrace. Our lips part and I press in closer to her, angling my face to deepen the kiss. The rhythmic beating of our hearts combines into almost one distinct sound and feeling that pounds simultaneously against both of our chests.

As I pull away slightly she leans forward, almost automatically, to close the growing gap between our faces. I open my eyes and lift her chin up gently with my hand, forcing her gaze to meet my own.

"Now, kiss me." I whisper. And she does. It all seems so wonderful. The sensation of her full, gentle lips moving against my own and the feel of her hands in my hair and mine hugging her tiny waist does something horrible to me. It forces me into, just for a moment, being swept up in the illusion that Katniss has finally made her choice.

However, that sense of pure happiness is too good to last. All too soon, I wake to the sensation of cool droplets falling from above onto my forehead and the sound of rain drumming on the roof of my bunker. My eyes slowly open and I lay motionless in my bed, staring numbly up at the ceiling. The dream is over, and I am forced to remember the rest of what happened that night.

Almost as quickly as I pulled her in, I backed away from her embrace and looked her in the eyes. She stared at me and cocked her head slightly in confusion.

"What's going through your head right now, Catnip?" I asked.

"I-I don't know," she replied.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk," I said with a weak attempt at a laugh to mask my cracking voice. "It doesn't count."

"How would you know?" she inquired with a hint of accusation in her tone. "Have you kissed someone who was drunk before?"

"No, but it's not hard to imagine," I sighed.

She then proceeded to ask me about the other girls that I had kissed before. There were far too many to remember, but I had never kissed anyone with the same passion, tenderness, and honesty that I had with Katniss.

She still does something unexplainably wonderful and cruel to me every time she invades my thoughts. She erases all logic, inhibitions, and sinfulness from my being, leaving me as raw and naked as I can possibly be.

We dropped the subject after that and I just held her, rocking her in my arms by the fire for the rest of the night. She buried her face in my chest and I pressed my cheek into her soft, dark hair. Nothing else mattered then. Not the past, not the future, not even the war. Just the present joy of being entangled in each other's protective arms as we shut out the rest of the world for the remainder of the night.

As I lie here in bed, I feel a sudden pang of longing shoot through me and salty tears begin to flow from my puffy, tired eyes. My mind begins to wander in a million directions, getting lost in the past wherever it turns. Finally, I resign myself to the fact that there will be no more sleep tonight.

I find myself wondering if Beetee ever thinks about Wiress this way. There was never any sort of concrete proof of anything romantic between the two, but the way Beetee could read her-like I could Katniss-led me to believe that she was something special to him. He knew what she was saying, even when she couldn't speak and would comfort her when she became frightened. He apparently stayed by here side for as long as he could through training and in the arena until the Capitol finally took her away from him with its Games. Just like they took away my Katniss.

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><p><strong>Keep those reviews coming! They help and motivate me more than you could ever know! :D<strong>


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